Red rain boots, Coffee and Thievery Corporation. Parov Stelar, Tom Waits and The Dress, any dress that shalt no alter a body's fine shape. No sugar = hapiness. Milan Kundera and every goldfish. Morning glories in my orange draped bed. Late March raining over cities. The Central Park bridge, 11 am sipping large black coffee, dead leaves under my soles, empty seats and stunner heels. My cigarette crash will make my face look older year after year and my red lips bloom one day after another. I make late phone calls to lovers I've heartsnatched for ages.